You only met me once. My family member was dating you, and I was overjoyed for his happiness. I celebrated mightily when I heard that you were engaged to my dear loved one. It took almost a year for me to find out the whole story. I still remember every detail of that conversation; sitting on the carpet in my living room while my toddler napped next to me as my pregnant belly was filled with the kicks and antics of my active baby and I spoke quietly with a family member who told me the entire story.

I sobbed carefully, so as not to wake my toddler. I could not understand you, “A”! Why would you choose my dear family member out of all the men in the world to do that to? All of his life, he wanted to simply be a dad. Somehow, you chose him to prove a point to your father. You got pregnant, thinking that somehow, your dad would have to approve of my dear one. Then, you panicked and had an abortion, without even telling my dear one that you were pregnant. After you told him everything, his grief overwhelmed him and became his god, leading to a tragic, early death.

I honestly dabbled with hating you for years. I blamed you, “A”, for stealing my dear one’s hope, life, and joy. But GOD had other ideas. He has had me on a journey of forgiveness for the last four years. I say “journey” because forgiveness is not just a bumper sticker emotion that can be slapped over some rust; it’s a sacrifice of choosing to love where you hurt. Some days, it’s as intentional as taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly as I pray, “God, forgive through me today! I want to rip this person’s face off for all the hurt that they have caused, BUT GOD, please give me your eyes and your heart for this person!”

The incredible thing is that when I give him the shattered pieces of my jagged heart, and I ask for His eyes, He shows me how I have also hurt others…intentionally and unintentionally. Nevertheless; I have caused hurt in others, making me no different than you, “A”. My hating you is no different than anything else that you have done. I have had to forgive myself.

I had to forgive myself for not getting your number at that first brief meeting, for not staying in better contact with my dear family member, for not being a better friend. I had to forgive my dear one for getting stuck in the moment of his grief, for not choosing to live his life, in pain and agony of soul, but still live beyond that moment. As you may already guess, I also forgive you. Please forgive me for my lack of compassion and loving kindness. Forgive me for judging you, for my wrath, and for failing to see how desperately lonely you were.

This weekend, I was privileged to participate in a worship service at the Life International Prayer Chapel. I walked into the building, and saw this:

“A”, it took me a while to finally go into the room. It’s left as a memorial to the preborn, including your son, that none of us were able to meet. “A”, the figurine is entitled “HOPE”, and it shows a depiction of Jesus meeting with a woman who also chose to end the life of her preborn child. I pray that you find hope, “A”! I pray that you are overwhelmed with His love! I pray that you will allow yourself the opportunity to talk about your choice and allow yourself the room and space to heal, if needed. This beautiful prayer chapel also has a Children’s Memorial Garden in honor of the preborn children who aren’t here with us today. I hope and pray that someday, that garden brings healing however you may need it.

I pray that you feel no judgment in this letter, but only my deep level of regret for failing to see your hurt. I forgive you, “A”, and hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I have no idea where life has brought you, but I hope that you are well, fulfilled, and healing.

Fast, rapid-fire words flow from my lips; often before I think them through.

I have been described as “having no filter” between my mind and my mouth.

I was nicknamed “Lippy” at a summer camp that I worked at.

I have been called “sassafras”, been accused of having “diarrhea of the mouth…it just runs…”,

and been told (my personal favorite in the echelons of ignorance) that

“a submissive wife is a quiet and unheard wife”.

That one garnered a quick-witted sarcastic retort which did not exactly produce a godly response.

I do some volunteer work which involves meeting in a Board Room to check in with executives.

In the last month, I have started to notice that within that setting, I have a “Professional Opinion” and a “Personal Opinion”.

I am truly grateful for the chance to serve in an environment where both opinions are valued highly.

At home lately, James and I have been caught up in a cycle of disagreements.

It was frustrating. I felt that my opinions and feelings were being ignored, and he felt attacked by my opinions and feelings.

I met with a friend recently so that she could give me “outside” eyes into our struggle.

***Note of caution. This was NOT a bash-my-spouse meeting. It was an intentional and heartfelt plea for someone who is not going to necessarily take my “side” in things. I wanted an honest opinion and honest advice from a woman who would tell me directly and kindly if I was out of line. I sincerely wanted to see what was causing the friction in my relationship with my husband.Because I sought an unbiased opinion, I avoided any family members, or anyone who I felt would be clouded by their loyalty to me.***

So, there we were. I began to re-tell her some of the conversations that we had had, and also how dumbfounded I was that James felt hammered sometimes by my attempts to explain my perspective so that he could understand where I was coming from.

She looked at me and said, “Gracie, do you tell him everything about how you feel or do you tell him the main point about how you feel?”

I answered, “He’s my best friend. I tell him everything so that I don’t hold anything back from him.”

She leaned forward a bit, and gently said, “Do you remember the story about the angel Gabriel visiting Mary the mother of Jesus? Do you remember how it describes what Mary did after the angel had spoken to her? ‘Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.’ “

“Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart”

“It’s okay to hold things in your heart and pray them over, just you and God. It’s not dishonest, it’s wise.”

Since that discussion, I apologized to James for not discerning what was important to tell him, for overwhelming him with an unintentional deluge of blinding emotions and opinions to sort through.

I began to pray through how I feel, to ask for wisdom in seeing why I feel that way, and also to ask for discernment about whether or not I truly need to feel heard about it…or if it’s simply a situation where I am grumpy and just want to wench about things.

When we were first dating, I was aware that a single man doesn’t want to spend time with a grumbling and negative woman.

Over time, I got comfortable with James. It’s great that I trust him enough to tell him my thoughts; but I forgot to respect the fact that as a man who loves me, he deeply desires to see me happy.

When I complain, it can easily convey the message that he failed to keep me happy.

The truth is that I am overwhelmingly happy, I just wanted verbal affirmation that he hasn’t stopped cherishing my feelings.

So now, I write him a note and try to phrase it positively.

For example, instead of a paragraph about how I feel that our schedule is too packed for us to be alone together, I try to simply say something like, “I really enjoy being alone, just the two of us. We haven’t done that yet this week, I have free time on Tuesday after dinner…would you please take me out of the house so I can catch up with my hot husband?”

It seems a bit awkward at times, but he genuinely wants to spend time with me too, and this is a kind way for me to ask him for what I would like while also being aware of his feelings.

Additionally, writing down my thoughts has served to give me a filter for my words, so that I don’t unintentionally offend him.

It gives me time for clarity. so that I can define what the real issue is.

Like this:

The following is a compilation of things that I’ve learned through this whole hysterectomy process.

1. Rhubarb extract is a life-altering gift, and in our house, to ensure temperature stability (and therefore the sanity of the household), it is a firmly established mainstay.

2. There is no shame in wearing elastic waistbands IF THEY ARE HIDDEN well under a baggy yet stylish top.

Secret Spandex Society (c)Gracie K. Harold 2014

3. I am still reeling from the realization that there seems to be a Secret Spandex Society which is only growing exponentially in numbers locally. Maybe it’s my upbringing from the Eighties, but I keep fighting back the urge to ask, “Oh sweetie, did you forget the skirt you had laid out to go over that?” [Sidenote: when exactly did fur lined boots get paired with yoga pants? Seriously, I am curious and have NO intention to be mean or offend…I am simply confused about when these styles became all the rage.] I digress…

4. When everyone says “You will be laid up, flat; for 4-6 weeks or more”. THEY AIN’T LYING.

Easy to Reach (c)Gracie K. Harold 2014

5. Seriously, assemble a collection of movies next to your bed BEFORE surgery. Trust me, you’ll need them for the days when you are awake but are somehow too exhausted to move.

6. Get used to having people come visit you and keep outings to a BARE minimum. It’s a few weeks of your life…not the end of all social life as you know it.

7. Expect lots of sleep.

8. Ask questions until you have none left. I did, and I knew everything that I needed to know as I went in for surgery…all the details, including what my insides would look like. There’s no shame in finding out what is being done to the body you will inhabit until death.

Pain is Diminished (c)Gracie K. Harold 2014

9. Microwaveable rice heating pads are the best recovery tool ever invented. I packed mine in the hospital bag, and since moist heat helps draw out gas and discomfort, it was constantly being reheated by the nurses for me. It made a vast difference! (For my surgery, they had to fill my body with gas so that they could see my organs clearer. Post-surgery, the gas tries to escape through your shoulders and lower back. Honestly, it does, and it’s horribly painful. The heat pack worked amazingly well!) My Pinterest Board: Hysterectomy Fashion and tips has some images of ways to sew your own (www.pinterest.com/graciekharold).

10. Gas-X(R) is your friend. Buy it in bulk before surgery.

Seeing the hand print in this photo…nope, have to rest. (c)Gracie K Harold 2014

11. Frozen dinners for 1 are your other best friend…even young children can microwave a meal for you. Additionally, after everyone stops staying with you during the day, there will be fatigued days when you really just want a warm meal in 2 minutes, without having to lift out the items from the fridge.

12. Granny Panties do have a practical use. I was skeptical as well, but I am glad that I listened.

13. There is no shame in asking others to help (this from the bull-headed woman who insisted on putting on her own socks and promptly took half that day and the next to sleep off the pain). Learn to ask for help.

14. As my Dr. said, “Outercourse is okay while you heal, Intercourse is not.” Creativity is good, and can be fun. If it hurts, don’t do it. If it causes strain on your incisions, DON’T DO IT. Prolonging recovery time in the name of instant gratification is simply not wise. Take care of your body…it’s the only one you’re going to get.

16. The lifting restrictions and bending restrictions? They know what they are talking about. Seriously, experience taught me quickly that twisting and or bending to get the laptop off the floor really HURTS. My surgeon gave me a great rule: “If you start to get a pain or a spasm, or if you’re exhausted, you are doing too much.”

17. Random odd thing we learned: if you have ever learned to sing and breathe from your stomach/diaphragm…prepare to take a short hiatus from singing full-throttle until you have healed a bit. **Lesson learned after two weeks of utter exhaustion and near-collapse following church services where I joined the congregational singing…oops.**

18. Relax and give yourself permission ahead of time. You will need at least a week of being in the house and sleeping.

19. Have a friend arrange meals for at least the first 10 weekdays following surgery. Trust me, you’ll need it.

20. Have comfortable clothes in varying sizes in a drawer that doesn’t require bending or reaching. Bloating is an unfortunate side effect, but moving forward in health is the best reward.

I can’t believe how much better I feel already. Yes, I’m tired, but it’s a healthy tired. It’s a healing tired. I am so glad that we went through with this.

Change, it is a-coming! As I prepare for surgery, I will be posting only on Monday, Wednesday & Thursday in the next few weeks…unless I feel loopy enough to smuggle the laptop away from James and make y’all laugh at the outrageous, unedited and medicated reality that is Gracie on pain meds. 😉

I realized today that my humor is sometimes used as a defense mechanism.

Forgive me, dear readers.

This is hard.

It’s hard facing surgery that would not have been necessary if the correct test had been done sooner.

It’s hard knowing that I may not have miscarried had the correct test been done.

It’s aggravating to have literally no.control. over my emotions or my tears.

Humbling, hard, yet good.

The good has been evidenced in the care, the prayers, the concern, the love, and the many kindnesses that have been lavished on us. Nurses, shopkeepers, friends, and family members have hugged me, reassured me…and listened.

I, Gracie K. Harold, am about to officially “lose” the part of me that has embraced five of my children.

That fact does not change who I am.

I am God’s beloved daughter.

I am Christ’s dearly beloved bride.

I am comforted by the Holy Spirit.

I am the wife of my beloved James.

I am the mother to all 8 of our precious children.

I am the wife of a college student.

I am passionate about justice, survivors, mercy, and LOVE.

My uterus may be taken, my pregnancy may have ended in miscarriage, yet I am still me.

I was made in God’s image…swollen belly, infected body, stretch marks and all.

The following is an unfiltered, unedited quote from the monologue I recently spit out like an epithet at James (and we subsequently texted to a very patient friend…Stacey, you are.a.saint!)

“I think my ovary just died….seriously, it is way past the date of recommended daily use. I am pretty sure that I just about birthed my uterus, so now I can officially walk like I rode a bucking bronco [yes I had the self control to say “bucking” and that’s what I meant 😉 ] Now I sit like I am flippin’ pregnant even though I am not…unless you count that I am “pregnant” with a fallen uterus…which has to literally be on the chair with my legs sprawled out like a cheerleader mid-jump. I am so HOT! Seriously, did we mistakenly turn on the heat in here? James, I am in a swimsuit, with a fan blowing on me and the air conditioner thermostat states it is at 71° but that has to be a lie! No way! Yes, I see that Rex is wearing a winter coat in the house….but the child has frail bones, maybe he should run around a bit. Oh, you brought me more ice for my water? Oh my…I don’t know why I am crying!!! It is just so sweet of you. *Sniff* Yes, I know that I have eaten half a jar of pickles and the entire block of cheddar cheese, but now I want to eat a raisin bagel with cheese and pickles on it. *sniff* Will you please hug me?”

That poor man.

My friend Stacey had mentioned that she had some extra hot flash support in the form of a rhubarb extract. We texted her the following message:

I really like fashion. A lot. Growing up, I loved following the latest trends. I’ve decided that having a hysterectomy is not going to mean that I lose my sense of fashion. This is hard. Quite frankly, it kind of sucks. I gained 15 pounds in 10 days from “water retention and inflammation”. (Great! Now my ‘moldy old cake’ is waterlogged…confused? Read my former post for an explanation).

I probably should have explained sooner that I am under the influence of a lot of Benadryl® due to hives…which we assume are from the antibiotics (round 4 in two weeks), and I may be a bit abrupt, ADD, lacking a filter, etc.

Anyways, yesterday James took me for a leisurely stroll through the area mall so that we could get ideas of what I can wear after surgery. I know that I will be bloated even more than now, and I will be sedated and sleepy; but I still want to at least look like I tried to look presentable. I unashamedly admit today that I have quite a bit of pride about this.

When I started to feel good about my body again after the auto accident, I transitioned into clothes that were more form-fitting. In his typical gentle way, James challenged me to also mix in some “baggier, boxy” clothes; never once in a tyrannical way but in a friendly, “have you considered trying this?” way.

I like it. The shirts are comfy, yet they don’t hang on me like a shapeless tent.

This whole experience has been so humbling.

I am so bloated…only over my uterus, so I look about 3-4 months pregnant. But I’m not.

We walked into a new, hip, store for larger sizes, “Torrid”. (***All images are from their website, torrid.com, except my “Lightplay 5″***)

The sales associate was so genuinely helpful and kind. She showed me the Fall Fashion Trends, including the highwaisted, harem pants, baggy graphic tanks, flowing swing sweaters, and of course; scarves. She pointed out some adorable, loose knit dresses which would effectively help cover my swelling.

I almost cried in the store. Her help was so heartfelt and genuine and her thoughtfulness spoke volumes.

James reminded me (for maybe the 100th time) that he.loves.me. It doesn’t depend on my swollen abdomen, or flat abdomen, or anything else.

He loves me because I am me.

I’m trying to take ownership of the reality that who I am doesn’t change when the way that I look changes.

So, today, world, I want to say that I am Gracie K. Harold. I have a swollen belly, but I am not pregnant…even though I may look like I am. I will do my best to rest and recover before and after surgery. I have a beautiful gift to take care of…my body. It’s lumpy and swollen right now, but it’s protecting and cushioning my soul and my heart. My heart is a rather tender thing in this moment…so please be kind and see me as I am.

I am a child of my Abba. I am loved. I am a wife. I have a mother heart. I am a sister, a daughter, an aunt, and a friend. I love passionately, and protect my loved ones fiercely, but with mercy.

World, please be gentle with me.

Women, my sisters…please. See past my size. See my heart. I will do the same.

Love,

Gracie

PS, Feel free to see more of my ideas on my “Pinterest” board, “Hysterectomy Fashion and tips”. If you would like to join my board, email your email address or Pinterest username to gracie.k.harold@gmail.com and I’ll invite you to join! (Happy pinning!)

My emotions took their toll yesterday and I surrendered to the tears…in the shower. (I have my pride and stalwart…fine, I was proud.) So proud, in fact that it was time for a gentle humbling. Last night, after the kids went to bed, I began reading the last few posts to James. He listened attentively, and was so compassionate that I began to weep. (Please don’t think that our marriage and our relationship is perfect. It’s not. We’re perfect for each other, but we are definitely human beings who prefer our own way. Selflessness is a learned discipline…and we are both slow learners sometimes. I just made a commitment to NOT air our differences online unless I have his permission, I am pointing out my fault and his, and it’s at least a few days since the incident so that I have time to cool down. Life is simply too short to alienate and hurt the one who has vowed to be the closest one to you.)

So, there I was weeping and an unattractive mess. I apologized through short breaths, but then explained. “My uterus held our babies. My sweet little Sammy and Lilly were both inside there. Now it’s going to be removed. I am losing the part of me that held them!”

He tenderly and thoughtfully responded, “You have a poem that I wrote about Sammy, and you have dreams that were given to you about both of them. Your blog posts and writings are preserved so that you can remember them. Your uterus is a tool given by God, a temporary, and [he referred to this Fall’s international project] a “dedicated” place where He created and knit together the children within your womb. It wasn’t designed by Him to be their permanent home. Your love still holds them even if your womb is gone. Think about our wedding for a moment. We have the pictures, and the clothes, and the memories of that day to serve as a reminder to us. We both wear the rings as an everyday reminder. Your uterus was a temporary reminder of the temporary place that our babies were created in. It doesn’t change what happened there, it doesn’t change your “motherhood” or your heart if it’s gone. Right now, the “reminder” of the babies is ceasing to function properly. It’s hindering your health and holding you back. It’s time to remove the broken reminder.”

Cake. old. moldy. (c)Gracie K. Harold 2014

I sniffled and said, “Kind of like if we had saved a slice of cake from our wedding but discovered that it was old and moldy?”

He grinned, “Exactly, baby! Eating it would be silly, keeping it would be ridiculous. It would be time to discard the reminder, but it wouldn’t change the reality that we are married. Just because the reminder is gone, or getting “aged” and past its prime, it doesn’t mean that you stop loving our kids or having your “Mother Heart”. You are still mom to 8 of our kids.”

I smirked and added, “And besides, my cake ‘is old and moldy’, as they say in ‘Encino Man'” .

We laughed hard through the tears, he held me, and I decided that it’s time to let go of my rundown reminder and embrace my reality.

I included the clip from “Encino Man” below, in case you need a chuckle today as well.

Thank you. I was best friends with your son all the way through High School and some of college. One week, during Spring of my Freshman year in college, you kept getting “nudges” to pray for my reproductive organs. You told me later that it was “weird”, but you did it.

My ovarian cyst ruptured that week. I lost a lot of blood, and when they went in for surgery, they fully expected to either do a hysterectomy, or remove an ovary, etc. They were rather surprised to see that they only needed to drain the blood.

Almost twenty years later, I am celebrating the three beautiful “bonus” children and the three beautiful children of my womb that I get to hold in my arms along with the two children who were held in my womb…even if they are only now held in my heart.

I don’t claim to know why your particular prayer was answered “yes”, when other ones for fertility have been “no” or “wait”.

I don’t understand why I still lost the two babies that I miss.

But I am so thankful for the extra time that I was given, for the stolen moments of a miraculous creation…five times.

Through it all, Mrs. J., I have learned that motherhood is not just physical. It’s visceral, spiritual, emotional, and physical.

I am a mother.

I have a “Mother Heart”for all the children that I have ever loved; my own, my “bonus children”, my miscarried ones, the ones that I had hoped to adopt, the ones I had hoped to carry in my womb, the ones that I teach, the ones that I smile at in the store, the ones that I baby-sit, or bounce on my knee at church.

Your prayer may have gifted me with extra years for my womb to produce, but the time allowed my heart to produce more offspring than I ever dreamed of.

Thank you seems so small…so consider this my virtual “hug”.

And by the way, God? Here. You already have my heart. Today, I offer you back the uterus that you loaned to me. I really did try to take care of it, but I am sorry for all the years that I wasted not appreciating it for the gift that it is. Thank you for allowing me to have a Mother Heart, and for enlarging it more than I ever dreamed it could be.

A cold sweat gripped me as I gasped for air. James traced his finger gently on my shoulder. “Baby, I’m here. You’re safe. What’s wrong?” I groggily wiped the tears off my cheeks. I mumbled, “Bad dream again”. He wrapped me up in his arms until I fell asleep.

My body is a constant enigma for the medical community. I react to medications that most people can tolerate without blinking. For instance, whenever I am on antibiotics, I need around-the-clock antihistamines or else I quickly become covered in hives.

I am thankful for the ability to heal and be on antibiotics, and I also understand from prior experience that my nightly dose of antihistamine produces terrifying nightmares. Lately, my nightmares have been exposing my fears.

This particular nightmare consisted of me being shut-into our home, helplessly on the couch as life spun on around me. James continually flitted in and out, kissing me on the head as he said goodbye. Every effort that I made to get off the couch and join him found me in the same position, unable to move. I was stuck.

I reached constantly after James and the children, but I couldn’t get my legs to budge. I felt abandoned, overlooked, and burdensome.

When I divulged my nightmare to James that morning, I discovered how terrified I am that my health will cause me to miss out on the new and exciting chapters of life that we plan to start together this Fall.

He reassured me that he wants to share all of our chapters with me, and that he is not going anywhere. He gently reminded me of our honeymoon, when he pushed me around the Colorado Mountains while I was in a wheelchair. I scrunched up my nose and said, “I know, but I didn’t want to make it a tradition!” He laughed and hugged me.

In looking over our options, I can either choose the current state which has me barely functioning, or in constant pain, or medicated and halfway functioning; or I can choose surgery to alleviate the pain, with the hope that I will improve.

The question is, where on the calendar do I even possess 6 or so weeks for recovery? Also, how do I continue to be involved in the life of my family…from bed, or the couch?

I don’t want to be the woman that holds her family back. I want to be their biggest cheerleader, encouragement, and prayer supporter. I want to exude love and acceptance.

Ironic that I accept them with injury without any hesitation, yet I can’t quite receive myself with open arms.

James deftly called me out last night. He reminded me that it’s a privilege for him to care for me, that he takes great joy in meeting my needs.

Throughout my life, I have been deeply blessed by many friends and family members who are “differently-abled” than society’s norm. Their joy, love of life, and simple faith constantly pushes me onward in my own journey. Again, I unhesitatingly accept them with their “limitations”…so why can’t I accept myself?

Pensive (c)Gracie K. Harold 2014

If I openly admit that I am limited, if I confess that I am physically imperfect, my facade crumbles. I will then have to admit that I am the one in need.

I am. I hurt. I am in pain. I am in need of surgery, and I am a bit scared. I don’t want to overburden James at such a crucial point in our life, just when things are changing and starting in a new direction.

It’s humbling to need others. It requires honesty, but also trust.

God pretty much took my breath away this morning when I read the following blog post:

Justine reminded me that He has this. When I speak the truth about my pain, my fears, and even my insecurities; then I courageously disarm the shame that goes along with silence.

So, my name is Gracie K. Harold. I have a “mild” case of Ehler-Danlos syndrome, type 3. I have recently come to appreciate my uterus for the 5 children that it has harbored and held, even if I never got to embrace two of the babies which were embraced by it. I am planning to undergo a hysterectomy before the age of 40. One of my ovaries will hopefully be allowed to stay, but the other one has no possibility of not causing me more pain and damage.

I realized this weekend that when there’s an empty space, and I turn my face to God in expectation of His Goodness; He enlarges my heart and fills me with more than I ever could have imagined.